Good Night Sealand
by Blue-Starlight92
Summary: Sealand gets sick, and is worried that his brother will abandon him.


**A/N: Just a short little thing I had an idea for this afternoon- I was feeling rather awful myself. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or Sherlock Holmes.**

* * *

"Good night Sealand." England said as he turned off the light, walking away from his younger brother's bedside.

Instead of the usual "Good night England" that was normal for the tiny country, all that could be heard was a tiny little cough, muffled as if Sealand was trying to cover it.

The sound was enough to give the stern Englishman pause. He turned around and walked back over to the bedside. He thought the younger country had looked a little off-color earlier, but had dismissed it as a trick of the light. Or one of his friends playing tricks.

Sealand yelped as England stuck his hand under the covers to feel his forehead. He was very, very warm.

"I thought so." England murmured. He turned the light on again, and pulled the covers back enough to reveal the kid's head.

"Ack!" Sealand closed his eyes immediately, grimacing at the light. "What was that for?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" England asked, his voice offering no nonsense.

Sealand blushed, but it was hard to tell, his cheeks were so flushed. He mumbled something.

"What was that?" England sat down on the bed next to him.

"I didn't want to bug you about it." Sealand said softly. "You've been so busy lately, and, well, you got really mad at me when I tried to come to the G8 meeting again…."

"Sealand, I'll always take care of you, why wouldn't I?" England looked a little shocked that his baby brother would say such a thing.

Sealand didn't have an answer for that.

"Here, I'll be right back." England said, and left the room.

While he was gone, Sealand thought about what he said. Yes, he supposed it would have been stupid to think that his own brother would abandon him, especially when he was sick. But then again, look at America and Canada. Sometimes it seemed as though they hardly acknowledged each other, except to complain about the other. But on the other hand, they must like each other somewhat, at least. Sealand decided he was lucky. England could be really stern and strict- but his softer side was nice. Goodness, if he acted like this every time Sealand got sick, maybe he should get sick more often! The very thought almost made him laugh out loud.

Just then England came back in carrying a number of things- a bag of what was either ice or cold water, some hot tea- which was good, as Sealand's throat felt awful- a box of cold medicine, and some cold water.

Sealand smiled inwardly as his brother placed the cold compress on his forehead- that alone made him feel miles better- handed him the hot tea- which he drank almost all of before he took it away from his mouth- and opened one of the little packets of cold medicine, muttering curses under his breath when it wouldn't cooperate. The pills were hard to swallow, but Sealand was happy that he'd chosen the pills over the icky cough syrup. Just the mention of the stuff was enough to make him gag.

"Better?" England asked.

Sealand nodded.

"Do you need another pillow, or anything?" England thought the pillow looked flat.

"Would, would you read to me?" Sealand replied softly.

England looked surprised for a moment. The last time Sealand had asked the older country to read to him had been years ago, shortly after he turned five or six and began to read on his own.

"Of course." England found himself smiling. "What book do you want?"

"Ummm." Sealand thought. Honestly, he hadn't thought that England would say yes, and hadn't thought about what book he actually wanted. "That big one that you're always reading after dinner. Sherlock Holmes."

England smiled- indeed the massive book of "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Collected Works" sat on the end table in the living room. "Sure. I'll go get it."

He left to go get the book, and when he came back, he pulled up the rocking chair that still sat in the corner of the young country's bed room. "Which story?"

It didn't take the sick child a half second: "The Speckled Band!"

"Alright." England smiled. He himself liked the story quite a bit. He opened the book and found the starting page, somewhere towards the middle. "Alright."

Sealand could almost see him adjusting reading glasses, though the old country wore none- it was just the way he was acting.

England licked his lips and began "On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic…"

As England continued, Sealand smiled even though his eyes grew heavy. No, he didn't needed to worry about his brother abandoning him. Ever.


End file.
